


Spider-Man No More

by That_Hippie_Chick



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Comicverse), Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, Spider-Man - Fandom
Genre: Aged-Up Peter Parker, Angry Peter Parker, F/M, Hurt Peter Parker, Peter Parker Cries, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Peter Parker Whump, Peter Parker is a Mess, Poor Peter Parker, Sad Peter Parker, Secret Identity, all of the feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:02:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 17,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23644309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/That_Hippie_Chick/pseuds/That_Hippie_Chick
Summary: If Peter lost his powers as Spider-Man what would he do with his life?(or) Peter loses his powers at the hands of Norman Osborn and he struggles with mourning Spider-Man and being a normal human being.
Relationships: Betty Brant & Peter Parker, Harry Osborn & Peter Parker, J. Jonah Jameson & Peter Parker, May Parker (Spider-Man) & Peter Parker, Michelle Jones/Peter Parker, Norman Osborn & Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Joseph "Robbie" Robertson, Peter Parker & Mary Jane Watson, Peter Parker/Mary Jane Watson
Comments: 3
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter One

**Author's Note:**

> My influence for this story is conglomeration of all the Spider-Man media I have watched. But strong hints of MCU Spider-Man, Amazing Spider-Man comics #500 to #600, but without One More Day and Civil War, and Ultimate Spider-Man.

Spider-Man legs dangles in the air as Green Goblin clenches his suit and holds him outwards like a smelly piece of garbage that needs to be disposed right this instant. Spider-Man looks down at the dot sized humans, and then looks over at the people gaping as they stare out the window. They are at least thirty stories up, which is not a fun place to fall from. “Gobby what did we say about tossing around Spider-Man?”

Green Goblin snears, “Soon I will no longer have to listen to your insolence Spider-Man. You have not learned to stand out of my way!”

“I’m nosy like that,” Spider-Man shrugs even in the grasp of his foe towering well over the bustling streets of Manhattan. Luckily a building is never too far in these streets.

“I’ve finally found a solution to my problem.” Norman yanks out a needle with milk substance from seeming nowhere, “This will take away what I so graciously gave you. Once you’re no longer Spider-Man. The prolonged exposure to the radiation and everything you put your body through as Spider-Man Peter Parker will not be able to manage. I’m killing you Peter, but in the longest way possible. You should have come to my side Peter.”

Spider-Man shrugged at the needle and flippantly responds, “Yada, yada, supervillain monologue. Let’s get to the part where I beat you nine ways to Sunday.”

Green Goblin huffs, “Fine,” and his grasp loosens, and Spider-Man feels that familiar missed beat where instincts freak out. It’s momentarily and then he free falls. Like a flying squirrel he extends out his arms so his web wings catch some wind and slow his descent. He glides and then senses some glidering coming to intersect and take him out. So he presses his arms by his side to drop down below the glider just in time. His movements are silk dancing with each flap of the wind. His arm extends out in his drop _,_ attaching to the glider, “I’m just going to hitch a ride if you don’t mind.” Peter feels a tingle, but too late! Goblin rams the extra cargo into the pointy pillar on top of a church. Spider-Man sticks on to the point, and groans as he does so. He shakes his head and shoots another web to once again attach on, “Will you ever learn! I never let you do the same trick twice.” Goblin turns around and slices at the line, and while Peter descends Gobby throws pumpkin bombs. Peter quickly webs to another building to get away, but the explosion’s tail end still catches him. Even as he escapes his senses go haywire. He looks down to see some kind of sticky bomb attached to his suit. _Oh, shoot._ It scatters all his senses and bearings. Not saving the fall he continues hurtling to the ground, and he splats onto the sidewalk. Norman brings the glider down to hover over, people scatter as he drops. At a safe distance they stand and watch.

“Think I broke something.” Peter groans as he twists out of the way of another pumpkin bomb, and in that instance the Goblin flies off. “That’s right run off to your little Goblin hole!” Except the Green Goblin veers into an apartment building and throws a pumpkin bomb into the window. Under his breath Spider-Man grumbles, “You got to be kidding me.” He jumps up and swings towards the building. As he gets closer it bursts into flames. The force of the heat pushes Spider-Man back, but he just shook his head to clear it and dives towards the window Norman had entered.

“HELP! HELP ME! I’M STUCK!” Instincts and endorphins and adrenaline stream through Peter’s bloodstream all pulling him towards the voice.

“I’m coming to help mam.”

Peter finds person after person, and he continues swinging them out or helping them to the exit. Fireman come as well and they nod at him as they pass. Peter was starting to feel safer. No Goblin in sight. Of course he is probably lurking around the corner to stab him with whatever concoction he has made, and so Peter will avoid whatever corner that is with all costs. Of course he can’t go ducking around as Peter Parker because Norman Osborn knows his secret identity, but Stabby Norman is a problem for later.

Peter is on the hunt as he hears another voice call, but then he gets the tingles and from behind Green Goblin lunges and plows the syringe into his upper back. Peter collapses. “How does it feel Spider-Man?”

“No,” Peter sobs as he feels everything draining, like all the blood draining from him he felt like a listless husk. The powers pooled off like water rushing to the drain, or in Peter’s case money going down the drain. It was much faster than the agonizing accumulation of his powers.

Norman, ever so stabby, towers over Peter and gloats, “All things must come to an end Peter. That woman won’t be reached in time, but for you Peter I’ll make sure it is a fast death.” The goblin cackled, “Now I wouldn’t want you dying.” So he lifts the mere man in his arms and carries him out of the fire. Peter’s head finds comfort in laying against the green plating.

“Norman, I will make you pay for all that I lose,” he spits the words out despite his weak demeanor.

“You’ve never had it in you, Peter,” people down below point at Spider-Man dangling from Green Goblin’s arms. “I sort of feel bad, you were my greatest foe. For what is worth have a good rest of your life.”

Peter Parker still with fight tussles and fights with him, “No! This isn’t how it ends Norman. Without me there is no reason for the Green Goblin.”

“Your right Peter, and so with you I will also put away the glider, and the gloves. HA HA HA HA HA!” Suddenly he drops Peter and Peter tumbles onto the rooftop. Skidding through his roll to an abrasive stop. He feels darkness suffocating him, and for the first time in years he feels his will is no match to what is coming. He feels powerless.

×××

Peter’s eyes split open, and his body feels limp and weak, and he feels wrong wearing the tight red fabric that stands for strength and power and hope. Blood soaks the sacred suit. Unlike waking from a couple hour nap somewhat restored, he finds that there is such a minimal progress in healing that it feels like he is a turtle in time. He grits his teeth as he pushes up. _If I had not been Spider-Man would I have learned this perseverance? I once had the choice to give up Spider-Man, and I wanted to. But I couldn’t, and I didn’t. And I didn’t after even when it was the whole do this or I hurt the ones you love spiel._

The soles of the suit scuff across the roof till he is at the edge, _now I am just a grown man wearing footie pajamas._ He instinctually moves towards the fire escape and his bag of civvies but he stops when he hears angry men busting another dude’s chops. He’s being mugged. He becomes rigid even as everything in him is preparing to hop down and quick take them out, something Spider-Man could do in even this condition. But Peter Parker, ever the smarter one, knows that he can’t fight those men. He couldn’t take them on as Peter Parker on a good day, but much less with enough bruising to be half black and blue, and cuts that are going to get infected, and a headache that will be raging on for days. He feels sick as he ducks down and watches from the ledge. _If it gets any worse, I’ll go down_.

The mugger took the man’s wallet, and left him alone. When the guy who settled enough he dashes out of the alley. Peter climbs down quietly feeling horrible. His throat starts snaring up as he traitorously walks where he had just watched the guy getting held at gun point. He numbly pulls at the zipper of his bag. Checking, because now he has no spider sense. He starts gingerly pulling off the suit. It sticks at the cuts where all the blood gummed it up. He huffs as he finally manages to shove the suit top into the backpack. When he gets to the leggings he stops, and just pull on his pants.

He pulls open his wallet and smiles when he sees his MetroCard. Little wins. He sighs as he finally slithers out of the grimy alley and into the stream of people pouring along the streets of NYC.

×××

Judging by the sun and the ever dimming sky Peter figures he lost an hour or so with his ‘nap’, and then of course he had to get back across town. MJ has probably being staring at all the news channels now, of course after she had set up all the medical supplies. She always does this when he doesn’t get back immediately. He has to text her, but well it never works out. His phone either takes a grave 200 hundred foot tumble, get sand logged, gets waterlogged, or is just plain dead. He checked his phone after all the flames and other Goblin nonsense and it was just kaput. He softly rasps against the door resulting in it being thrown open to the worried wrung face of Mary Jane. Peter stumbles past her. Blood has seeped through his shirt, it was one of his good ones and one of MJ’s favorites. He stabilizes against the counter where all the bandages, burn cream, and hydrogen peroxide is laid out.

Mary Jane’s hands come from behind to stabilize the wobbly figure leaning against the island, “Peter the fight was hours ago, where were you?”

“MJ I couldn’t swing back. I had to walk. Osborn had this syringe, and it… everything went woosh, bye bye.”

“Peter, what?” Peters turn to stare back at MJ, his eyes are steel forged under great heat and pounding hammers.

His hands grasp around the counter as hard as he can as if to test his strength, “He took my powers. I am Spider-Man no more.” A smile spread across MJ’s face like butter smeared across just popped toast. She wraps and Peter and brings him into her melty warmth. “MJ I am not going to make it past a couple of years. My weak little Peter Parker body is going to die from all the stress it was put under as Spider-Man. I’m dying.” MJ pulled her head to look at Peter.

“Will deal with that Peter. Will deal with everything. Because you’re strong Peter,” her words and smile radiate confidence and warmth that slides down the exterior of Peter.

“That was Spider-Man.” Peter drains into her arms, and so she has to be the harden one.

Her arms hold up his drooping form, and she does her best to pick him up with her voice, “Spider-Man was just the powers, everything else was you. There must be a great man behind the mask to do what is right with all that great power.”

×××

Peter tries staying straight like a log, but logs roll and he tustles. He sits up finally and looks over at MJ nestled into the blankets and pillows on his other side. Her shiny scarlet hair drapes over the pillow and her face is relaxed and even then it is beautiful. She doesn’t have to twitch a single muscle to be gorgeous, and Peter knows that many other men would agree with him. He sighs and looks away even as his hand itches to squeeze her beautiful hand daintily laid out on the pillow by her head. He hopes that she would squeeze his back, instead he looks to the window. He got the window side, because it was easier for him to slide into bed without disturbing her. She said she knew. She sensed the bed dipping and him curling up close to her. On bad nights he would wrap his arms around her. At this point she didn’t have to wake up to know.

He looks at the big cheese wheel in the sky over the skyscrapers. Yet none of their needle points could scrape across the full moon’s underbelly. It is only eleven at night, in about another hour it would be at full height above the city which due to latitude is 40 degrees or something. Why is it he always falls to science for comfort? It would have been one of those nights were it was almost peacefully to be swinging over the city that never sleeps. At the height of his arc he would be perfectly framed by the luminescent circle in the sky. It would be a cool night, but not too cold that he would be wishing for more than spandex. He would float over the streets in his snug and warm enough spandex watching over Queens and whoever else. Instead his chest feels strapped tightly with leather bounds, and his vision is blurry and everything just feels wrong and scrambled. It’s wonky and upside down to be laying in bed instead of out.

He chokes at the thought of the wind pushing past him as he flew with gravity for those few moments. Sure most flying superheroes defy gravity, but who says you can’t fly while still abiding the laws of physics, airplanes exist. But that had been ripped away from him. His entire life, from when he was still developing all into his adult life ripped off and destroyed. What’s left? Maybe six, seven years of trying to find the same purpose that Spider-Man gave his life. He’s got MJ, but what about dying old together? Would it be selfish to want to keep her till he dies even when he knows she will have to grieve as he dies young?

He feels hollow like a light wind could make him tumble, and it probably could he had always been a twiggy boy rocked by wheezy lungs and weak… everything. Even with muscles earned over the years of strenuous exercise he felt drowned by the aches and pains and strains from the years of strenuous exercise. Peter Parker never became a somebody, no he became Spider-Man and so for years Peter Parker has been a nobody. Peter Parker is just the protective bark of the tree protecting the cambium which has all the little straws running through the tree slurping nutrients to the roots and slowly growing the tree. Now all that is left is a bark and some of the cambium. The heartwood has been stripped. The thin strip of wood shakes. Peter feels hollow, empty, and useless, and he misses himself. How can one go on living when they already died? So he buries his head into the suffocating cloudy pillows and hopes to drown them with his own rain.

Beside him eyelashes butterflies open as she listens to his sniffles, but instead of turning over MJ lays still listening to Peter mourn. She knows that the minute she turns around he will suffocate everything. He will pull himself together for her. This is the only time he will take for himself to grieve. She holds still as she listens to the sniffling, and she waits. Patiently she sits out the puttering. She stays still like a dead log mossed over and rotted on the bottom, so she can’t roll over and nestle Peter against her and help him through. She wants to skim her fingers through his messy mop –Peter loves that—and soothe him to sleep. Peter’s muted cries blaring to no ears except his and MJ’s tire him till he forgets whether the thought he just had was conscious or not. When he settles, his breath evens from his wobbly distress to the even paced, thoughtless breaths of sleep, MJ rolls over and tucks herself against him.

×××

He wakes up, and lets a breath out. He doesn’t have to go to work, at least not today. He could try, but MJ would probably drag him back into bed. She probably gave a Jonah an earful, which just makes Peter smile. He will bear through it tomorrow. But he feels feathery like maybe he is flying in a new way with the weight of the world off his shoulders. Or maybe his feathery because he has lost a large chunk of himself, but either way mammoth buildings no longer crush his chest and he feels that he can breath in and out all he wants. Still something eats away at him like the silverfish eat away at his clothes.


	2. Chapter Two: Peter Parker the Photographer

Betty Brant frowns as Peter walks in. “Wow you look horrible.” Peter grumbles as she hands him a coffee from the carrier, “Courtesy of Jonah.” It’s those words instead of the caffeinated steam drifting towards Peter jolting him awake. Peter’s jaw drags against the ground as he watches Betty hand out more free coffee.

Robertson comes up from behind and shakes his head, “He has been absolutely ecstatic with the disappearance of Spider-Man.”

Peter glares into the glass windows of Jonah’s office where Jonah flounces around, and bellows, “Ding dong the menace is dead! Which old menance? The Spidey menance. Spider-Man has finally been defeated! And it’s J. Jonah Jameson who saved the streets from pillaging of that monster!” _Can someone tell him Spider-Man already has two extremely catchy theme songs, and I didn’t get hit by a house!_ Jonah beams as he dances around in his office. Peter frowns at the delight that pickle puss has been infused with and he just wants to sock him in the mouth, but given his ribs… ow, and all the other owies that MJ did her best to bandage and kiss he settles with joy that at least something good came out of it.

“I honestly think that it is disgusting,” Robertson shakes his head, “he shouldn’t get his hope up. Spider-Man has gone missing before and he always returns. But it… after we saw the footage of him and the Goblin. Something felt final. No one found the body, but…” Robertson glances over at Peter, “We’ve been a going on about Spider-Man too much. It has only been 48 hours. Peter you look horrible.”

Peter grimaces as they turn onto that, he kind of wanted them not to notice. He’s been pulling all the “what! I wasn’t beaten into ground spider” tricks such as leaning on the desk to hold his weight. His toothpicks legs can’t even hold up the extra muscle mass that is still there from the years as Spider-Man. You know the muscles that he worked hard for by punching out bad guys 24/7. He also looked like a rotting fruit with all the black and blue marks, so even as the sun infuriatingly beamed down on New York City today and it was sure to warmly hug the skin, he covered up. No shorts, or looser top just a jacket that he wore when he wanted to look professional, and jeans. At least it wasn’t a turtleneck in summer, some people were convinced Peter got a tattoo the last time. Yet despite his best efforts, his ruse doesn’t work, they don’t even go for the tattoo assumption, “You feeling alright?”

“I’m fine.” His arm buckles suddenly and he stumbles and throws his hands out to catch himself, but instead of his hands sticking against the side of the desk he slips to the ground with little warning. _Oh spidey sense, never leave me again._

With another head banger, just not the fun metal kind, Peter slips into unconsciousness but he was aware of everyone bustling around him, so semi-consciousness? Demi- consciousness? The in between as your soul floats to the big place in the sky? _Hope there is puppies there. That is what I want a faceful of puppies. Just wriggly bodies and warm lapping tongues. I want a puppy. Puppy…_ He groans as he lays on the ground, that fall alone as Peter Parker would have probably cracked his weakling ribs if they weren’t already broken. Betty’s hand fell onto his forehead and pulls away, “His burning up Robbie.”

Robertson shakes Peter, and Peter elicits a moan as he feels like a maraca, “Peter, Peter, come on.” _Now that isn’t a fun salsa jive._ Robbie gets up and turns around, “JONAH!” The bristle-topped man stops midaction and looks out holding his mid-party dance stance. “It’s Peter!”

Jonah grumbles as he makes it out of his office, “Great job on ruining this moment.” He looks at the downed man on his newsroom floor, “Come on Parker, no sleeping on the job.”

Robbie looks back up at Jonah’s rigid form, “Jonah, he is in a bad way. We think he has a fever.”

Jonah’s crossed arms fall and his face no longer scowls, “Then move him onto the couch.”

Robbie hesitates, “Your office?”

“Yes my office, where else,” Jonah exclaims with his mouth tight and twitching, and his arms flailing.

The journalist mutter to each other as they watch Robbie and J. Jonah Jameson pick Peter up and move him into Jonah’s office. One of the interns comments, “He must be really happy about Spider-Man.”

Betty looks back over at the twiddling intern in her trying hard outfit, “No J.J. is just a big softy. Peter has been like a son to him since he started here back in high school.”

Her eyes brighten as she puts the leads together, “So he is the Spider-Man photographer. Maybe he could give me some insight for this article I’m writing about-“

“Hold off. You don’t need to be a vulture to be a good journalist,” Nails dig into her shoulder to hold off the froggy fresh face from hopping over to Peter.

×××

Betty enters the office where Robby and Jonah are getting Peter comfortable. Robby just grabbed a pillow to tuck under Peter’s head.

Betty kneels down by the long window seat. “No need for extra layers”, she comment as she works off the jacket sleeves. Robertson helps shift him, and amongst the jostle Peter’s eyes peak open but only little slivers before shuttering close.

Mottled arms peak out a little bit more the further they pull. It’s like he got leopard spots overnight. The bruises were a nasty mixture of the blacks, blues, and some greens and purples. Pretty much the entire rainbow. Robby looks over at Betty who has tears brimming her eyelids, “Betty?”

“He’s never weak like this. Even when I know he is hurting I forget about it because he always acts strong.” He fingers gently run over his arm, and Peter twitches away even with his eyes closed for business and soft, even sleeping breaths.

Jonah comes back with a basin and washcloth, he mumbles as he walks over, “I always see this in movies, I figured we need to bring his temperature down-.” His eyes lift up and the basin clatters at the galaxy sleeze tattoo bruising the arms. Jonah had never seen a full sleeve. Even worse was the blood coming from the front of his shirt or is it the pus beiling out of th

“He always acts so strong.” Peter eyes blinked open blearily.

Peter groans and asks, “Mr. Jameson.”

“Peter you have a fever, bruises, and second degree burns!” Betty was red mad as she hovers over the hurt man.

Peter crosses his arms and Peter snaps, “I’m fine.”

Jonah, enraged, exclaims, “You most certainly not!”

Jumping on, Betty rams her pointer finger into his chest, “Stop doing this hero bulls*#%.” “How did you get these?”

“Accidental bus crash…” He analyzes the flared nostrils of Betty, and he sees the disbelief of Robertson’s and his boss’s face. They don’t believe him, “I had a rough day yesterday.”

Betty leaned in with her wet news hound nose digging in, “What kind of rough day?”

Peter turned his gaze away from them and rather looked down at Jonah’s oriental rug spreading across the room, “It’s none of your business.”

Jonah harrumphed, “I always trusted you to be truthful to me Peter.” Peter swallowed down a pool ball sized lump of hurt, “I think it is time you come clean. No more gallivanting around on big white lies like some knight in shining armor. YOUR JUST A LOUSY PHOTOGRAPHER!”

Both Betty and Robby cowered away as Jonah towers over petrified Peter, “Where were you when this ‘accident’ occurred,” Finger quotations emphasized around the disbelieving ‘accident’.

“Yeah I was taking photos of Spider-Man. I followed them when I saw the tussle.” Peter bit his lip as he thought of the stabbing in his back, and he tried clenching his muscle but it wasn’t what he used to be able to do.

The brunette’s hands lay on his muscle as she leans forward, and she feels him tense,“What happened to Spider-Man yesterday? Do you know where your buddy is?” Their eyes meet, hers methodically analyzing each hair, eye movement, and eyebrow flinch and Peter’s tired.

His lip stiffens, “That’s between me and Spider-Man.”

Robbie’s hand lands onto Betty’s shoulder, but he hesitates in stopping her, “But the people deserve to know what happened.”

Peter hisses at Betty, “Please no more Spider-Man.” Betty backs away.

Jonah exclaims, “NO! What happened Parker. Tell us now.” Peter grasp at his forehead trying to ease the pressure. The treadmill with thirty little hamsters in little hamster wheels keeping the tread turning is steaming. Losing his powers, Osborn, now this, even thirty hamsters can’t keep up with this. Normal human brain power is about twenty-three hamsters.

A frown unfurls on Robby’s face, “Are you okay Pete?”

“I… I just don’t know what to do. That’s all.” Peter’s hand lay against his head and he grips at his two temples. He needs to tell someone the truth, let the words run out of his mouth so he doesn’t have to hold this dead secret, “I need to tell you guys something. Now that it can’t hurt you. It can’t hurt anyone now.”

Betty scathes as she points out, “You are still hurt.”

Pete looks at her in the eyes and nods, and she takes his words step by step checking for loose rocks and any snaggers, “I am hurt, because I was there at the Spider-Man and Goblin fight. I was just dropped a couple stories, and ran into a fire because, I am Spi-“ Peter feels something large and hard stuck in his throat, and he can’t swallow it down, and he shivers even as heat scorches his skin. They stare at him bewildered, “Have you ever wondered how I always know where Spider-Man is going to be?”

Jameson jumps raring, “Well you are in cahoots with him, which I don’t agree with but at least I get good photos.” Jameson notices, as he watches Peter’s face and he looks into his chocolate brown eyes, Peter steady and prepare himself. His words taper off as Peter prepares himself like a soldier ready to walk onto the frontline.

“Can you make sure the door is closed?” Jameson is now lip locked, and maybe Peter would find that amusing but _ohdearwhatI’mdoingthisissuchastupididea_. “I know, because I am Spider-Man.” J. Jonah Jameson face contorts and his ticker seizes like a tazed muscle or a dog unwilling to let go. The bear claw trap unwilling to release almost causes another Peter Parker related heart attack.

After taking a breath and letting his body loosen he walks over to his desk, muttering his mantra, “I will not die before Spider-Man. I will not die before Spider-Man.”

Robbie has he hand settled on his chin, as he stares down at Peter and tries to mental shove him into a costume, and force bad puns down his throat. Yet it just all gets regurgitated back up.

The newspapers prominent journalist just proclaims, “WHAT?! That is not possible. Are you taking the blame for him?! Are you his scape goat?” Peter meets her with a steadfast focus. He tells no lies, and so she swallows the heavy crock of information. She crouches by him and gently prods, “So what happened to Spider-Man?” Peter is silent and rolls away to look out the window and watch the midday traffic chug along the streets.

He words are garbled as he continues to face away, “He won’t be around anymore, he doesn’t exist anymore.”

Robbie softly questions, “Why not?”

Peter grounds his teeth and feels the hamsters charging as all the emotional vomit comes up. He rolls over quickly, and swoops around to sit up. He feels light headed, but he has pushed through worse, “Yesterday Spider-Man entered a burning building to remove trapped citizens. However, he never left the building. Green Goblin the mad scientist behind the accident that caused Spider-Man managed to create a serum to reverse the affects.” Peter shakes his head, “And I need to go. I need to heal.”

“Your not going to walk away after that bomb. Peter you just admitted to your life being torn away from you, and your clearly in need of some sort of medical attention and you just want to-“

Jonah is sitting in the chair staring into the vast beyond. “Betty, Robbie, leave.” Betty’s mouth clicks shut and Robbie brows furrow as he looks over at Jonah sitting calm but also determined. The two exit, and Jonah continues, “Peter lay down. You like you’re going to yak all over my rug.” He pulls out a bottle from his drawer and places it in Peter’s hand.

“Those don’t wor-,” Peter stops his track of thought and smiles as he takes the offered pill in one hand and the cool glass in another. He pops the pill back and then tips the water into his mouth.

“I want you strong enough to make it the entire way out of the building before collapsing so I don’t have to drag you’re a$$ back here.” Peter swallows back the water, gulps back the terror of what is to come, and lays back resting his head against the decorational pillow.

×××

Peter struggles to swing his legs over the window couch. It all hurts, but he it’s been thirty minutes that should be enough of a break. That is all he is going allow himself, because he is at work. He should be getting photos for the next headline. Jonah glares at Peter like he knows exactly what Peter is thinking.

“I’m going to get up, and leave you to your peace.” Peter assures, “You seemed pretty happy this morning. No need to drag me back.”

Jonah caterpillar twitches above his lip, or maybe it was his lip that twitched. “We need to talk Peter.” Peter gulps, he had never had this reaction from Jonah, “You lied to me Peter, and despite my defamatory of Spider-Man you took photos of yourself for income. You bamboozled me.” Peter is impressed as Jonah manages to keep his voice even, but still the blunt words stab hard. It takes a lot to make an incision with a blunt knife. Peter winces, “I always figured I could trust you Peter, but you are the one who kept the biggest secret from me ever. I am a newsman I should have known.”

“And Jonah there are many reasons why I could not tell you.” Peter looks up at him as he tries to explain. Jonah’s just stares at him his brows slate straight and his mouth chiseled into a rock firm line.

“Your fired,” Jonah states blatant and to the point as ever. Jonah never beat around the bush, and he always tells the truth. Despite what some may think he always has good intentions.

“I… I understand.” Peter swallows back tears. He start walking towards the door, and then stops with his back still to Jonah because tears stream and roll down his face, “Jonah I forgive you for anything you have done to make my life harder, because your one of the greatest guys I know. I guess I’ve always been looking for a dad, and I didn’t realize that maybe you were the one filling that role all along. And I’m sorry for lying to you, and being such a pest as Spider-man.” It all tumbles out in a waterfall.

Jonah’s lip quivers and he feels a big fat juicy tears welling up, “Peter my boy,” his words quaver like an uneasy road, “don’t be sorry. You’re good person, and you did some good.”

×××

Peter shrugs past the gaping and staring Daily Bugle writers. Some writers that he knew well from years of collaboration, and others who just knew him as the dude who usually had the front page photo. Betty Brant watches sadly as Peter walks by. Some part of him, the little Spidey conscious him, is enraged and angered. He rattles at his cage going on about how Jonah would never change. Never able to see beyond his hatred for Spider-Man. Robbie gave him a head nod as he walked out. He slumps against the elevator; his pained hot back cooling against the meat freezer metal of the elevator.

He walks out to the bustling street of NYC. Maybe he should just become further lost. Even further ripped of anything that could identify himself. What is Peter Parker now? A useless flap of skin and slab of meat. His hands gripped at his bags strap. People eye his bruised appearance, but kept walking not taking any more than a millisecond. Of course New Yorkers wouldn’t care. That was what he was worth a millisecond of anyone else’s time. His fingers scrapped raw as they clenched even harder. He should just keep walking until he starts to disappear. Be swallowed into the bustle and become just another face. A nobody, whose individuality only helped in the long run of the whole sum. Where his identity wasn’t someone who was known and had a huge impact on the world. He’s no Cher. He’s just some singer who makes a living. [Spider-Man Plug: check out my Christmas Album”]

So he walks amongst the people. He would usually swing above like someone else, someone different, and other. Now he is just one. Just a man who gets glances because of his black eye and they might just spot the blood. Probably just had a hell of weekend. He stumbles into the subway station, and even manages to snag a seat. The person next to him eyes him super warily. Someone’s elbow whams right into his ribs at some point, “Hey watch it. They just got reinjured.” They almost looked sorry for him and his condition. Yeah Peter Parker is definitely no somebody.

He grunges along the street and drudges by many people. Kids on skateboards rush right on by him. Wooshing past him, he glared at the kid who made him stumble. It reminds him of roller skating gang. As he spiffs him elf up he hears yelling coming from the local grocery store. Immediately the Parker sense is tingling, and he knows that something is about to go down. It isn’t the ringing, blaring alarm that goes off in his head as Spider-Man, but the deep gut down feeling that something is wrong, the intuition that he developed as Spider-Man. And so he brushes himself and pushes through the people.

They grumble and yell at him for so rudely cutting through, guess he needs to work on his sidewalk etiquette since it has been such a long time. He checks both ways and then rushes across the street -he has saved too many people who almost got hit- and makes his way over to the store. He sees the disgruntled yelling at a few disruptive young men causing havoc in his store; they are knocking stuff over.

The disgruntled Italian man is spewing at the kids with their smirks and glares,“Hey you are breaking things. That cost money you know!” One kid locks eyes with the man as he knocks something else over.

The leader growls over the counter, and the spit flies into the shop owners face, “Listen old man you should be paying us for the inconvenience you have caused your customers. Now empty the cash register.”

“YOU WILL LEAVE NOW!” He yells back at the teens. Peter stands outside the door, and he at this time he decides to slide into the shop.

The teens glare at Peter as browses the sandwich selection. _Ohh, turkey BLT with spicy mayo. Can split that with MJ._ Peter tapped his fingers against the side of his cheek. _She’s right I’m a bit puckish recently. Probably has something to with never be hungry. Should get two, I’ll eat the other one tomorrow. Okay $6 for sandwich, maybe the recently unemployed man should buy one sandwich._ One of the teens growls, “Would you mind we are having a discussion right now.”

Peter gives his best smile and does his best ‘what me?!’ face, “Well it is a public store, and I am not going any farther to get me a sandwich for tonight.” His eyes look over the teenagers, and boy he thought he was fashionable impaired. The main guy is wearing plaid with gym shorts and slip on sandals. One wears a t-shirt and black jeans with shaggy black hair and a beanie, fine that is acceptable. Then one is wearing a tank with an unbuttoned shirt, and the other dude is wearing a polo with the collar popped. He analyzes them and only one of lackeys really has any real muscle, but they all seem t be athletically inclined. Then again the leader is packing enough to probably take him out.

“Look we suggest you don’t buy stuff here, because this man here is a criminal.”

 _No fighting, just talk them down._ “It looks like the only criminal here is your guys destroying this poor man’s store.”

“Well this ‘poor man’ was taking issue with our presence in the store. Don’t you think that is unfair. Shouldn’t anyone be allowed in the store,” the boy’s nose shriveled as he spits out his venom.

“Well you clearly weren’t being respectful to him or the other customers. As you can see the store cleared out.” Two of the boys are cracking their knuckles and the tank lackey is staring down Peter. They probably didn’t miss his black eye, he has the jacket secured but apparently that isn’t much help hiding his injuries. Given the fact they have no remorse in the fact they are going to beat up a man while he is down. They are probably going to do so remorselessly.

“Are you going to protect this thief, because we are willing to injure more than the merchandise.” _Great going self, now you got four young men who are at their peak ready to beat you at one of your lowest points._

The strongest lackey steps up and pulverizes his knuckle into his palm, Peter preps himself and gets into stance. It isn’t long before a fist flies by his head. Thanks to some hand-to-hand training he has picked up over the years of hanging out with some great fighters he manages to grab the kids fist and despite he equal to almost larger side flip him onto his back. _Let’s get this done efficiently._ “What was that!” one of the kids exclaims.

“Let’s just say some of my friends don’t like me walking around without some security.” The leader huffs, and being second buffest he makes his move. Peter tries some moves on him, but his grip fails or he does it wrong. He would probably be able to do it right if he hadn’t always relied of his strength. At some point he plants on to the ground. _And for one second I was a bada$$, badegg again. Wait I can swear now that I’m not some idol._ Peter’s face is dragged across the floor like a mop as one of the boys drags him by his legs closer to the others ready to plummel him. They grind their fist in their palms and grin devilishly.

There has to be some way he can move the advantage to his side. So as he prepares for them to kick him in the ribs, yeah he is going to need replacements, he looks around and grabs a can of some beans on a low shelf. And so in the middle off his delightful back massage he turns around to throw a can at the kids jumping up and down on him. His aim isn’t half bad, and he wallops one of them in the forehead. The other two have to jump back to avoid their falling friend. He was leaning up against a shelf holding his head with the can of beans rolling at his feet. Peter manages to grapple to his feet in time to be meet with now only two more wannabe thugs.

“Now do you want to go down like your friends? Or do you want to pay the man for what you are buying and then walk off with minimal bruising. Because I tell you one thing I am a resilient bugger.”

The two looked at each other. One grabbed a bag of chips and went to the counter, and the one leaning against the shelf, the big kahuna, pushed up and made his way to the counter with a water. What a healthy choice. Peter nods and then stares down at the last teenager.

“Go study for a test or something. And be respectful.” His voice is more authoritarian than it was ever as Spider-Man, but he has to make up for the lack of pure power somehow.

The teenager sneers, “We should call the cops. What you just did was an act of vigilantism.”

“And what you did was vandalism.” The kid glares at him and stalks off to the door, “Hey you spent too long in here to just browse!” The kind glowers as he turns around and snatches the closet pack of gum and slams it onto the counter. Peter nods.

The store owner beams as Peter limps up to the counter with his one spicy mayo sandwich, “Do I know you?”

He gives a grimace which was supposed to be a neighborly grin,“Yeah, I’m Peter Parker I come here often. Live right around the corner.” He motions towards where his doom awaits.

The man pats the counter that Peter judiciously leans against, “Well consider yourself one of my favorite customers from now on. The sandwich is on the house, and throw in a second one you’re going to need it. Also discount for life!”

Peter gives him a grin, and adds, “Oh, my girlfriend is going to be ecstatic.”

The owner sticks out his hand, and Peter takes it in return. They shake jubilantly, “Your girlfriend is very lucky, Mr. Parker.”

×××

“Peter you can’t do this. You are not Spider-Man anymore.” She dabs a little too hard at the cut on his upper cheekbone. He looks away ashamed.

“Peter you’re always saving somebody. Who’s going to save you? No one will do what you do for others. No one is crazy enough to risk their neck to help someone, because they know they can’t. Peter, you need to know what you can’t do.”

“MJ you would be surprised what you can actually do when you don’t think about what you can’t do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment on what you think. It means a lot, because I don't know if it is good or not. And I'm editing the next chapter so I might take your suggestions into thought while I edit. Heck, I still have portions to write yet.
> 
> FYI, I planned to post this weekly but won't be held steadfast to this in case something goes awry. For example, I was sick Monday and Tuesday.


	3. Chapter Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter mopes around, but at the end of the day he always gets through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just a little sad this fic isn't doing better, because I think it is a really interesting idea. I understand it is comic based, but I think it still works in terms of the Tom Holland movies. Because at this point Peter is older. Also you may find that Mary Jane is still a strong woman, I just didn't do Michelle because I tried to fill that void that One More Day made.
> 
> So I was thinking that this story would cover the initial period where Peter comes to terms with being a non-powered being. And then maybe write some fun short stories where he ends up in weird situations and he has to try and take care of them with no powers.

Peter’s curled up on the couch prepared to die like a spider. The TV isn’t even turned on as he just wallows in the silence. He hasn’t watched television in years, and he sure isn’t going to develop a taste for it now. He hasn’t even opened up social media. It is all about Spider-Man. He still feels sick to the stomach when he opens up the closet and finds the suit hanging up. The two eyes stare back at him and he can’t look into the eyes of the hero of New York City, the man who stopped the evil that held up bodegas and pizza shops.

He stopped opening the closet. Stopped eating things. He has always been sort of hungry as Spider-Man and just normalized to it. He nibbles at a bowl of cereal every couple of days, or when MJ cooks. If MJ isn’t running off to work and cleaning up after his miserable self she cooks fantastic meals. She has him move so she can sit at the end of the couch and turn on her soap operas. She sits at his feet, but he wants to rest his head in her lap. Except that would mean spinning around, so he just lays there. In his day old clothes, no shower, little food, no brain function. This is how people turn into vegetables.

It is Wednesday night when he takes the time and effort to spin around and rest his head in her lamp. She starts running her hand through his hair, but her nose shrivels at the grease coating her fingers. She points to the bathroom, “Shower, now.”

Grinning mischievously at her, “Will you come with?”

“And contaminate myself with whatever has been brewing on you for a week? No.” Peter sighs and his atrophying legs push him to the shower. Being normal is hard, so much more effort to do things. He closes the door, and he has to pull it really hard to lock it. Mary Jane is right this is no time for fooling around. He isn’t in the mood, and he needs time to process this. This huge life change. The shower rattles before spewing out water. The water pressure is less than desirable, just a light stream down his back. Best described as functional enough, which is what the entire apartment is. They keep the apartment as clean as possible, but it is a garbage apartment a little easier to afford now that they are living together. Mary Jane has a job, but his job—well his former job—wasn’t a stable or well paying job. It was best for MJ to live near her work, less travel, less Peter worrying about her so of course they have to live in Manhattan. Apartments are at least two to three thousand dollars a pop. Do they think money appears out of thin air?

Peter sighs as the hot water rushes over the grime. The dirty water swirls into the rusty drain and gurgles. Peter holds himself upright with his two hands pushing up against the cracked tile wall. He closes his eyes, and submerges his head under the water. All he can hear is the streaming water isolating him from the shoddy little bathroom, from the broken down apartment, from the confusing world. It is just him as he was born, au naturale, and the water washing away the world. It was just him. He sighs again. He is starting a new part of his life. He just wants something to punch. That is what he needs someone to punch. Norman Osborn has to pay for this. They can barely pay for this apartment. He doesn’t have a life. All he has is the couch. He has to try and set aside what he has been doing, because it was all ripped away from him. MJ deserves better. She deserves someone who actually has purpose. She deserves high pressure showers after a long day at work, especially when she teaches a yoga class. She deserves rest from her clients, the models.

Peter’s hands slip against the slick tiles, and as they slip and his hands don’t stick the more his temper slips. They keep slipping until he has to pull them away before he tumbles, and he pulls his arm back and slams his fist into the tile. The skin on his knuckle splits, and he chokes back the sob. Before the tile would have cracked, and his knuckle would heal. But it still hurts to breathe with his broken ribs and that was weeks ago. And he still hears the women calling for help. The one last failure of Spider-Man.

No Spider-Man could have saved her, Peter Parker is the screw up. Spider-Man was his life. He has no life. He just stands in this ever cooling stream like he was when he was born, but now he stands here at the end. It is full cycle. The water pounding the floor melds in with his babbling bawling. He feels like he had been hiding from Peter Parker for years, and now that Spider-Man is ripped away he has to face Peter Parker. That this child has been hiding away in the basement pushed aside, and now suddenly he has walked out and he doesn’t know what to do. Peter Parker’s life ended the day he was bit by a spider. The stream of his tears pour into the drain gushing the same amount as the weak pressure of the shower. There was banging at the door, “Peter!” Her voice cuts through the stream of water deafening him, her voice, her beautiful voice, the lilac voice in wilted in worry. He keeps crying. “Peter,” the poor lilac is stomped on, “it’s going to be alright.” And when she says it, it has to be true. But still the sobs rip through his chest like Rhino’s horn does. He heaves. “I’ll wait right out here.” When the babbling bubbles to a stop and he is left simpering and sniffling he finally grabs the bar of soap and scrubs away under the freezing water. He steps out and grabs a towel, and wraps in it for warmth.

MJ sits outside the door, right across the hallway with her head in hands. Her forehead badly needs to be ironed, her fingers grasp at the roots of her hair like trying rip weeds out of the garden, and her breathing is heavy. He slids down beside her, his slick back helping with the descent. He rests his wet head on her shoulder, and let out a breath letting little bits of his previous life escape, letting go breath by breath. Her hand slides over his, and she then looks down at his raw knuckle, “Peter.”

“Sometimes it is the only way I know how,” MJ just rests her head against Peter’s and rubs her finger over the bloodied knuckles. They sit like that, MJ with her legs crisscrossed and Peter drying. They stare into the dark bathroom, and they listen to the arguing neighbors down the hall, and Peter intently watches the fly buzzing around their living room apparently that habit hasn’t kicked.

MJ breaks the delicate sugar bowl, “Can you go to the grocery store tomorrow? I’ll give you the list and money. Then I also want you to start building your resume. I’ll review it tomorrow night.”

Peter mumbles against her shoulder, “Sure, anything for you MJ.” He lifts his head as he listens intently to the argument, “Do they always fight so much?”

MJ twirls her fingers over her knuckles, “Every night, you usually are out.” Peter makes his way to their room. “He’s hitting her, Peter.”

Peter stops at the door frame and leans against it, “How do you know?” He peeks over the door frame to look at her cute face chewing at her lips and her brows furrowed. She knows he is going to do something about it, but maybe she isn’t so sure because of what happened.

She sighs in defeat, “When I am doing the laundry downstairs. She always has a bruise and I’ve asked about it, but I don’t know what to do Peter. You know what my dad was like.”

Peter’s jaw clicks in place but he looks at her with soft eyes, “What did you want when you were being smacked around MJ?”

“Peter, what are you going to do about?” He gives her a little smile. It is the same smiles he would give her when he found her outside and they talked over the fence. It’s his sacrificial smile, the ‘no one gets hurt on my watch’ smile.

MJ implores, “Don’t get involved Peter. I don’t want you getting hurt. You’re not Spider-Man. You are practically a twig!” But she knows that as he gives her his apologetic smile that she lost.

×××

Peter’s raw knuckle scraps across the door as he knocks, , and it is a few minutes before it flies open revealing a red-faced man, so red his face looks like cherry, “What?!” he growls. He is wearing a wife beater, how appropriate.

Peter scrubs at the base of his neck to hide his scraped skin along the ridges of his hand and looks not into his eyes, “Yeah sorry, I just wanted to make sure everything is alright. I’m Peter by the way, live two apartments over.” He gestures down to the apartment tucked at the end of the hall with the sign 9B.

The man sinks his teeth into Peter and shakes him violently, “Well, Peter, you can mind your own f#%!ing business.”

Peter steadies his glance, and holds onto the edge of the door, “Look sir, your girlfriend…”

“Wife!” he cuts in.

Peter holds his stance, and he feels his jaw tighten, “Wife always has bruises when I see her, and I sure wouldn’t want to falsely call in for domestic violence. But if you don’t prove otherwise then I see no reason not to.” He cocks his head side to side, and makes sure to have tight grasp around the door.

He looks into the man dead on, “Are you getting hostile with me!”

His voice is cool, Spider-Man would have quipped here, but Peter needs to be taken seriously he isn’t a heavy hitter anymore, “No. I’m dead serious.”

The door between Mr. Wife Beater’s and Peter’s pops open. Out sticks a clearly frustrated college boy. His black mop dangles as he head pokes out perpendicular to the entranceway, “Hey Parker, is it you who was bawling in the shower?”

Peter takes the chance to glance over, “So what if I was crying in the shower?!”

Nando, exasperated, calls back, “Dude I got an exam I have to study for tomorrow, can you keep it down?!”

Wife beater through clench teeth grinds out, “If you accuse me of one more thing I swear I’m going to pummel you,” Peter’s eyes snap back to big burly man who has bubbles in his eyes at this point ready to boil over.

Peter demands,“Can I just see your wife,” then flips over to the young man, “and Nando I’m going through a rough period in my life!”

Nando retorts, “I’ll be going through a rough period if I don’t do well on this test! My parent’s are paying tuition I can’t fail this class!” He motions his neck being sliced.

“You asked for it!” Peter’s attention snaps back over to the man with his fist flying forward to pummel Peter in the face.

Without Spider-Sense Peter doesn’t realize the fist is coming for his jaw until it is too late. His neck whiplashes. He groans, “Ggh… what class is it?!”

Peter shakes his head, and Nando apparently averse to his neighbors beating each other up goes on, “Biology.” Peter sends a roundhouse kick to the burly man, and he hopes the abusive husband felt the sting because his foot sure did.

“I got a degree in that!”

“You assaulted me.”

“Are you any good?”

“Decent.”

“Can you tutor me?!”

 _Daredevil taught me all those pressure points now would be a good time to use them_ , he karate chops the man in the side of the neck and the tub of lard topples down. A woman cowers holding her hand to cut on her head. “Miss you’ll be alright, go down to Apartment 9B my girlfriend will help you .” He turns to Nando, unruffled watching, “I’ll tutor you after I do some clean up.”

“Thanks Mr. Parker!” Peter walks over the downed man to his poor wife. The lady smiles as Peter comes in and helps pick her up. The man at the door gets up and barrels towards Peter. Peter pushes the woman out of the way, _and this is the part where I jump._ Instead he gets ran over, but he manages to grab the man’s ankle and he topples over once again.

“Go!” he calls to woman hovering by the door. The man snaps his head from his wife to threat who is groaning as he rolls on to his back, “Not the ribs again, they were almost healed.”

The man on the floor moans, “What are you man?”

“Let’s just say I hang out with a rough crowd, and I’ve fought bigger guys than you.” He sighs as he looks over his ribs, and then he notices that once again the unstoppable mack truck is rising up. Peter hops on his two feet shaking his soft shampooed hair. He did his best to duck the blows coming towards him, and sure this guy is sloppy but he isn’t as fast as he usually is. His lips split, and he can taste the iron. He does his best to knee the guy in the gonads to give him something to consider for a good few minutes, but ends up missing. And ow… that knee has been put through a lot of torture through the years.

“Your weak.”

“Don’t remind me.” The man takes Peter by his shoulders and drives him into the kitchen counter, and the edge digs into Peter’s back. Peter hisses. The man’s hand roam around the counter behind him, and Peter wriggles trying to find a way out. He stops when he feels the blade to his jugular, and then he finds the courage to duck out of the man’s hold, but not before the man stabs down into his shoulder. Then he really hisses, like rice cooker steam hiss, big old python hiss.

He rolls out from under him with the knife sticking out, _ow ow ow ow._ The man then grabs another knife from a drawer and starts lunging towards him, but then a shot ripples through Wife Beater’s bicep and he falls to the ground. “Put your hands were we can see them!” Peter huffs out a breath in relief, “I said hands were I can see them.” Now he looks down the barrel.

He pleads, “But I’m not the bad guy.”

The cop gives him a stern grimace, “Likely story, put your hands up.” He put his one arm up, but he can’t move his other without the knife going all slicey with his tendons, “both hands.”

“Dude please, he stabbed me. I got important stuff in my shoulder.” The officer with the gun nods to his teammate to go cover Peter, as he cuffs the guy they shot.

The partner lowers himself to kneel by the man with kitchen knife sticking out of his shoulder and an unphased expression, “Stay calm, we’ll have medical come so that we can take care of your erm… situation.” His hand almost falls onto his bad shoulder, but he stops himself and touches Peter’s good arm. “So how did this occur?”

Peter turns his head, his head that feels like it is filling with helium and is about to float of into the atmosphere and explains, “There was yelling, and so I decided to check on them. He was beating his wife, and so I interfered.”

The cop’s eyebrow rises, “And you didn’t call the cops because…”

Peter insists, “We did call the cops.” He reminds himself to stay here leaned against this disgusting beer stained wall. He can’t just hop off crime scenes anymore to avoid questioning.

The younger officer nods, “Yes the lady from apartment 9B.”

Peter gives a little smile, “Yeah, that’s my girlfriend. I swear she will claim me if she has to. I sent his wife over there when things got violent.”

“And when did things get violent?” the cop is intent on Peter’s answer.

“Whenever I asked him if his wife was okay. He punched me and I returned the favor.”

“Yeah, by kicking me in the face.”

“I think I broke my toe.”

Nice cop assesses what he can see, but queries, “Any other injuries?”

“My everything hurts, but I have a feeling that’s because he knocked my head into the wall. Um, my ribs hurt too but they hurt before this, and my shoulder if you didn’t notice the knife sticking out of it.”

Peter feels good when he elicits a small chuckle from the officer, “You are kind of skinny to be getting into fights, no offense.”

“Plenty taken.” The police officer smirked as he rises and walks over to the fridge and roots around for a bag of frozen peas. He then takes the hanging kitchen towel from the oven and wraps it up. He brings it back to Peter holding it up for him.

Red hair and a furious MJ push through the door. “Hey lady you can’t be here,” Mr. Protocol demands.

“Peter! Are you alright?” She sees the black hilt emerging from his shoulder like the sword in the stone, “I’m getting you a shock collar.”

Nice cop injects, “I assume you were the caller on the phone.”

She turns to the cop, “Yes.”

“Do you know how long Mrs. Amisotto has been a victim of domestic violence?”

MJ replies, “I have heard them arguing for months now.”

“Why choose today to fight him Mr…” he fishes for the name.

“Parker. Peter Parker. And I’m not usually around at night, so I don’t usually hear their arguing. I was home tonight, and I decided to do something about it.” Peter hand grasps at his shoulder, and his grits his teeth.

“Thank you for your cooperation. The EMT should be here soon.” Peter gives a weary nod as he leans further back into the wall. The cop directs his finger at Peter warningly, “And don’t get into anymore fights.”

MJ huffs, “Good luck with that officer.” She sets her hands on her hips as she looks down at Peter, “I swear he is going to become this apartment building’s own vigilante. And for your information Peter I am not helping you get Mrs. Silverstein’s cat out of a tree.”

“I see that you have him covered.”

“Well I got my techniques.”

“Tell me more.” Peter listens to the police officer, trying hard to flirt with his self-proffessed girlfriend, and MJ chatters away. The EMTs come, and they remove the knife, which still has food remnants on it so they really have to clean it out and that is really unenjoyable, next thing they he knows they wrapp up his shoulder.

The EMT shakes his head, “Next time don’t get into a fight twice your size.” Peter scowls as MJ grins ear to ear. He gets up the minute they are done.

“I’m going to tutor Nando for his exam.” Peter gestures to the apartment next door.

The nice cop holds up his hands, “Woahh, buddy. You should get some rest.”

Now Peter is just grouchy, he’s been stabbed and questioned, “Look I owe the kid. My crying in the shower was disturbing his study. Not his fault my life went to s*#&.”

“Hey if you get suicidal again call, 1-800-273-8255,” the cop claps his hand against Peter’s good shoulder.

Peter gives him an sharp glance, “I’m not suicidal. I’m just. It’s rough man.” He shakes his head.

“You should get a therapist.”

“A therapist wouldn’t believe half the words that come out of my mouth. Plus, look around I don’t necessarily have that kind of money.”

“Well just find someone to talk to who is good at listening and is removed enough from the situation that you are willing to tell them everything.”

×××

If it weren’t for her he would be doing nothing. He would die just from having no purpose. No job, no way to risk his neck and limb to the people of the city, and no one to punch.

Peter glared at his resume that hadn’t been updated since when he was a teacher, yeah that didn’t work out well. Okay start off with the basic stuff.

JOB EXPERINCE

**Daily Bugle** freelance photographer, way too long

_Would take photos of occurring events and bring them in to Mr. Jameson for review. Known for taking photos of Spider-Man. Unfortunately never won a Pulitzer._

 **Midtown High** chemistry professor, 7 months

_Taught students in 11 th grade the basics of chemistry. I would have to plan lessons and grade tests and labs._

 **Horizon Lab** scientist and developer, 2 years 3 months

**~~Parker Industries~~ **

EDUCATION

**Empire State University** Bachelor’s in biophysics, Masters in biochemical.

SKILLS

Pun Making

Web slinging

Punching Bad Guys

Self-Portraiture

Screwing everything up

Growing six extra legs

Being prone to clones

Coming back to life

Mary Jane hums as she reads over his work, “Nice start but you should probably work on the skills section, add an objective, and not beat yourself up so much.”

“I have just screwed up so much. Especially with the whole radiation frying me to you know-“

“Don’t remind me.” “We just got to make it last.”

“It shouldn’t be like this. I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to be two 80 years old on a porch swing holding hands.”

“It’s not the time for that Peter.”

“Someday MJ.” She closes the laptop, “Did you get the groceries?”

“How about I order some pizza?”

“Order? Pizza? But the groceries?”

“I don’t feel like cooking, plus you love Little Joe’s pizza.”

Peter grinned, “That I do.”

×××

There was is on his door and he perks, and gallops on over to fling it open to Betty Brant with flowers, “Hey Betty!”

Betty gives him a playful scowl, “Peter, I thought the client is supposed to come to the therapist not the other way around.”

Peter gives her his watery puppy eyes, “Yeah, but I got stabbed this week, and I assume these are the ‘sorry you got fired’ flowers?”

Her face stretches out with her eyebrows pulled up high, “You got stabbed? Can you get a vase for these flowers, they are for Mary Jane.”

Peter gesticulates with his hands, “Yeah this guys was beating his wife down the hall. I had to stop him.” He talks in a blahsey manner, and goes to grab a vase from one of the cupboards.

Betty takes the vase from his hand, and goes to fill it up, “Which is a great place to start.”

Peter rests his hands on the tiny counter, “I just needed someone to punch.”

She cuts the stems, “And did it help.” She turns to place the flowers in the water.

“No.”

She turns with vase in her hand and the flowers prettily arranged, “Why not?”

Peter’s face scrunches, “Well first of all I got my a$$ kicked, and second of all I need to punch Norman Osborn in the face.” Betty’s face drops.

She stands there her face on pause and her hand grasping around the pretty blue glass vase, “Norman Osborn as in millionaire mogul Osborn? Stormin’ Osborn? And if I’m right, your friends dad?”

Peter’s reply is short, “Yes.”

Betty clears her throat as she gently turns around to place the flowers on the table, “And why would that be?”

Peter’s hands grasp at the counter, “Because this is all his fault.”


	4. Chapter Four: The Osborns

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's time to punch someone in the face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this took so long. It has been (mostly) done for quite a while, but I kind of lost steam because I am seeing other works that I don't care for as much having more traction. Which I understand this isn't everyone's cup of tea, but it makes me wonder why I am even posting it if no one really likes it. But I like it, so I am going to post it.

Red cornfields gleam in the sun basking through the large window wall, and glimmering psycho eyes laugh at Peter Parker fuming at the doorway, “Peter Parker, please sit down. How has your week been?” Peter’s nose is bandaged, he has puffy black doughnuts circling his eye, and one shoulder is higher than the other.

Peter in his baggy t-shirt, jacket, and slacks huffs over to the seat, the nice seat on the other side of the mahogany desk, “Rough.” Norman eyes Peter’s bruised face and his padded shoulder, and smirks.

Norman’s voice is prim like a wolf with a gleaming fork filled smile, “As I can see. Can’t help but go looking for trouble can you?” Norman is amused by the anger clenching onto Peter’s face.

“Well I’m dying already, so why not live it to the fullest?” Peter spats back at Norman.

Peter Parker stares down at the king manipulator, at the monopolizer, at the Green Goblin. Norman Osborn has the gall to say in a spitting image of earnest, “What can I do for you Peter?” Norman dials just the right buttons and all the sudden he is calling ice cold, hypothermia in 3 seconds, slush in the Antarctica Ocean, Peter Parker.

Peter must have developed a new power, because his words frost the entire room, “Norman, I want to let you know that you can’t stop me from derailing you. You made the mistake of giving me a limited amount of time on this earth. I’m never been this unwavered about you. You are good at making fear Norman, but I’m not afraid of you anymore.”

“How are you going to do that, Peter? I have everything I want.” Norman beams his billionaire smile as he leans back in the office chair and expands his arms to take in his opulence of black marble, green leather chairs, hand woven oriental rug underneath their feets, the gold splashed across the room, and his pin stripe suit.

“Do you Norman? You’ve always wanted a heir worth of your legacy, but no one is ever good enough for you are they Norman?” His words prod Norman with the cold iron, so cold it burns.

Norman springs forward with a sneer, “I can make you suffer more Peter. I can kill your Aunt and your girlfriend and your friends. You can’t do anything about it now. Your helpless. Your bleeding heart can’t save the people that you would throw your life away for. I can have the whole world chase you, I can tell the world that you are- well were Spider-Man.”

The tie keeping the anger wrapped in cool snaps, “Spider-Man wasn’t yours to take!” Spittle flies from Peter’s mouth as he leans forward and jabs at Norman with his finger.

Norman’s voice rumbles dangerously low, “But alas, he existed because of me.”

A voice splices the tie cinching the two closer, “Dad, Peter?” Norman leans back, but Peter is still slobbering at the jowls for the prize. How can this man destroy so many lives and sit in his seat without making even a twitch?

Peter verbally lunges, his jaw wide open ready to make a loud crunching chomp, “You destroyed my life Norman! Twice! And if you touch anyone else I will destroy you,” his chair pushes from behind him as he physically lunges towards Norman.

Norman just brushes off the boy slobbering over him, “You pertain some of your rage,” Norman’s voice bellows between his glib laughing, “The spider is a hunter, it seeked out your hidden rage.” Norman laughs hysterically, “And now you can’t do anything with that rage!”

Harry glances between the two like an Animal Planet program with two lions pacing in circles. Norman cackling, and Peter fuming. He can’t look away even when he knows who already won.

Peter roars, “I was going to have career and I was going to save people with science. I was going to work at Oscorp, before I knew what a corrupt man you were. My living was taking photos of Spider-Man. I’ll be on the streets. This is cruel, and why? Why do you want to destroy my life? What did I do to you?”

Norman pleased, drops his provoking demeanor. It is so sharp like a sudden drop off a cliff, and all of the sudden his voice is dangerous. He wanted this reaction, this question and he knew exactly how to get it, “Peter you had to be stopped. You are almost about to snap, and I helped you before you do anymore damage. You would have felt guilty when you did. I know it is hard to believe, but I’m not-” Norman’s head cracks to side as a bolt of a fist plunders into his jaw. Harry stumbles back at the sudden table spinning. Even Norman holds his hand to his face as he stares at Peter searching for what he missed.

His voice cuts like a porcelain edge, “I’ve been working on that punch for years.” Peter Parker for once in his life time is terrifying, because even without Spider-Man there remained a hidden power, a hidden rage that rarely peeks out.

Some people ask what would you do as a superhero for one day, but Peter begs the question: what would you do as human for one day?

×××

Peter pushes past Harry plowing down the long window filled hall with a few milling workers. Harry runs to catch up, “What was that about Peter.”

The furious man spits out, “You know your dad is a real jacka$$.”

Harry scoffs, “Come on Peter he ignored me for the first eighteen years of my life. I got first hand jack@$$ery from him. But, geez, what did he do to you?” He notices the doughnuts and the other wrappings covering more injuries.

Peter jabs the button for the elevator, and turns, “Harry, I’ll tell you some day.” 

“Peter we’re friends right?”

“Yes,” Peter’s words are pinched because he knows what Harry is going to say, “but-“

“Then I think it is time we come to clean to other.”

Peter glares at Harry, “Fine, but can we at least talk this over a drink or something?”

“Sure, but you haven’t had a drink in like forever.”

“Let’s just say I’m in the mood.”

×××

“Peter you look like a mad bull ready to storm the china shop. I literally see fumes billowing out of your ears. I’ve never seen you this mad.” Harry had been having trouble keeping up with Peter’s brisk pace.

Peter brushes off Harry’s digging, “Harry I need an alchoholic drink and seat in a corner where no one can hear us, before I even consider to tell you this, I guess it is just time to come clean with everyone.” It’s only one in the afternoon, not quite happy hour. Harry opens his mouth, but Peter stops him, “Drink first,” his words brazen between the two, as Peter drags him to a sports bar bubbling with a couple tourist. Harry stares at Peter like a relative that talks about when you were young and yet you never heard of them, because this isn’t Peter this is some messed up duplication.

Some hot chick in a short skater skirt and a tied up t-shirt comes to take their order. Peter had specifically asked for a booth way in the corner. Most people were at the bar watching the television rooting and hollering at the men on screen. If Harry wasn’t in such as daze right now he would be slipping smooth pick up lines to this chick. Instead he orders a bourbon and then he gets Peter his ‘girl’ drink.

Peter just glares off into the distance until the lady sets the drinks down and she clearly is confused herself as this two young hot, hopefully eligible bachelor’s don’t even mutter a word to her. The glasses thump against the table, she takes another good look at the silent midday drinkers. Not a word is muttered till she is off at another table, “Let’s start off with the fact, that I haven’t been a lightweight since I’ve been fourteen. Not that I was drinking, but I didn’t even feel a buzz after two drinks. My metabolism was wicked.” Harry sipped at his drink. Peter wants to make sure Harry is half way through before he gets to the heavy hitter stuff, “Why do you hate Spider-Man, Harry?”

“Because Peter, he ruined my life,” Peter just sips at his drink with his eyebrow perched high, “my father’s one pure goal is Spider-Man. He fixates on him so much, and it’s why he became the Green Goblin.”

“Yeah, but Spider-Man does good. He helps people out, and it isn’t his fault you father has some desire to control everything in life.”

“Like he did with yours?” Harry’s drink is still at the top, and he hasn’t even taken more than a couple sips.

Peter sets down his half drink, already feeling the affects thanks to his not so super metabolism and his long absence from alcohol. “Harry, when we were freshmen at Midtown High we went to OsCorp, do you remember?”

Harry shook his head and gave a light chuckle, “Other than major embarrassment? You had that bite mark, and got extremely sick. May and Ben had to take you to the hospital, and they could barely afford it.”

“Harry, I consider that one of the defining days of my life,” Harry crouched closer in searching and uncertain. Peter splayed his hands against the table and traced them, “I mean that day changed my life forever. It’s not every day that you get bitten by a radioactive spider and all the sudden you can climb on walls.”

Harry looks like he was slapped, “You’re Spider-Man.”

“I was Spider-Man,” Peter corrects, “and I saw all kinds of s%*# that you wouldn’t believe.” Peter’s lip twitched, and his voice quaked, “I lost so many people because of it. It broke me more than once. I’ve been cut open and treated like a lab rat. Someone hijacked my body and put my mind in their dying body. I’ve died, come back to life. It wrecked my life. I have missed so many dates and job interviews and important things in my life.” He feels a big glob of water run down his face, “And I’ve all I’ve been doing for the past week is god@$% crying. But I really messed up now. I don’t know why I can’t accept it now.”

“Accept what?!” Harry seethed.

Peter’s voice bit with grip of chainsaw teeth, “I’m dying. I’ve been through wringer, I’ve been a bloody pulp more times than I can count. And the radiation in me. I was fine when it was helping me fight its perverse side effects.”

“Then how’s my dad related! How is it always you two?” Harry glared and his eyes shined greened, like the Goblin’s, because he is the Goblin’s son and Peter can’t help but see it sometimes. The way his eyes prowled for its answers, but it was more feral, less refined and controlled compared to Norman.

“Because your dad took away my powers and now I’m dying. Your dad essentially killed me, but made sure it was as long and torturous as possible.”

“You could have stopped. You didn’t have to torture yourself. Maybe then my father wouldn’t be dreaming of having you as a son or spending every waking moment trying to destroy Spider-Man. I could have had a father.”

Peter growled back, “At least you had a father.”

“You had Ben.” Peter reproached, wounded at the heart.

Stepping off his high of broiling emotions, Peter insisted tightly, “Ben died because of me, because I didn’t do anything. Because I couldn’t stop one lousy mugger. All I had to do was trip him. And now I am dying, and now because I couldn’t stop him from stabbing me with the needle in the back a woman died it that fire and now more are going to die. I’ve been faced with death many times before, and when its my time to go its my time to go. But like this?”

Harry stiffed, “You mean not going out as a hero?”

“I was never a hero Harry. I was a public menace, I was trying to do my part. You’re right, I mean your father wouldn’t be the Green Goblin if I wasn’t Spider-Man”

“Peter you’ve always been a good friend to me. Maybe I wouldn’t hate Spider-Man so much. If you hadn’t lied to me for so long. I just wish you had told me.”

A grimace etched itself along Peter’s face, “Every time I tell someone they die.”

Harry shook his head, “You don’t deserve it. You were given all these great powers and you bemoan about it.” He just huffed and shook his head.

Peter’s voice was desperate and pleaing, “Harry at what point in my life has anything ever gone smoothly?”

Ignoring his friend’s call to him Harry continued, “You got the girl, you got- had the powers, you had the loving home.” He ticked each item off on a finger, all the intangibles placed upon his finger pad.

Peter sniffed, but he kept the tears welling up in his chest and where the pressure of the hurt pressed, “If this is how we are going to leave it fine, Harry. I’m done. I’m already half dead, lets get the other half over with too. I think that’s why I decided to tell you today Harry. I need to come clean with you and get this off my chest so I can move on and die.”

Harry looked away at the man crumbling in front of him, “Okay, Peter. I’m here with you till the end. What my dad did to you was f*#%ed up. We’ll get over the other stuff, because you’ve always been there for me Peter. And I’m not going to be a s#*%ty friend.”

“Let’s get you home. MJ is probably worried about you.” Peter’s lips pulled into a tired smile as he gandered up. “You clearly a lightweight now.” Peter playfully punched Harry in the shoulder, “Okay, ow.”

“Sorry, I stopped pulling my punches. Apparently being Spider-Man was a workout enough that I actually still have some muscle.

“So about this weird s*#% you’ve seen.”

“Oh you want a superhero story? Do you want one about Doc Ock, the Sinister Six, Fantastic Four, the time Daredevil found out my identity, how I made everyone forget my identity, how I’m a god in the macroverse, any of the times I died. Choose your poison.”

“I don’t know, what is this other half of your life like. I thought I had you figured out, but apparently you not always doing what you say you are doing.”

“Well…”

×××

Peter sings into the apartment, in only a slightly tipsy stupor, “Oh sweetie!”

MJ’s voice sweetly flutters into the entryway, “Oh Mr. Cuddles I’m in the living room!”

Peter’s face pinkens, “MJ, please don’t embarrass me in front of Harry.” Mary Jane pops up from the couch and meet eyes with Harry who is bent over laughing, and Peter who’s face is cranberry red.

She gives him a little bit of a embarrassed smirk, “Hi, Harry. Sorry it’s customary greeting. But he really does love cuddles.”

Peter hisses, “Which is private, behind close doors.”

She shakes her head, “So where were you two?”

Harry simply answers, “The bar. Peter kind of dropped a really big bomb.”

“How big?” MJ turns serious, and holds her two hands together. It is silence between the three as Harry confirms her suspicions.

“Like Peter is- was Spider-Man big.” Peter winces at the change of tense, “I’m just came to drop him off. I guess I didn’t need to be worried about him before, but I can justify it now.”

Peter gives him a short awkward nod, and MJ also unsure of what to do watches as he turns to leave, but then stops him, “Harry,” he turns to look at her, “I’m happy you know. I’m happy Peter told you. It’s important for him to let go.” Peter raises his downcast eyes to look at her.

Harry nods, “I will forgive you guys.” The door gently latches shut, and Peter leans into MJ. She smirks a little, because he is a total cuddler.


	5. Chapter Five: Goodbye Spider-Man

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Peter Parker finally moves on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this? The last chapter?  
> Hint: I think not.

* * *

When was the last job interview that didn’t get interrupted by some goon? When Peter told them about his extensive experience and education they were grinning and enthusiastically pumping his hands. He bursts into the apartment gleaming, “I got the job!” He looks at group huddled around the table. MJ, Harry, Betty Brant, and Flash all grim looking with their shoulders hunched towards each other, “So what is this, my fan club?”

The set of four eyes glances at him, but it is MJ ever the bold to respond. She licks at her red lips, “We are just worried about you Peter.”

He cocks his head as he sets down his briefcase and loosens the noose around his neck, “Don’t be. I’ve been doing fine for a while now. After last night, after job searching, I’ve moved on guys.” He gives them his grin, the one that he uses when despite everything he knows it is going to be alright. He doesn’t particularly break this one out when he was Spider-Man and giant hairless wombats raid the city.

She grimaces, “You moved on, then destroy the suits.”

Peter’s jaw flinches his smile falling off his face, “I’m not removing Spider-Man like a cancer. I’m moving on, but I have to preserve something of him. That’s a part of me.”

MJ gets up from her seat. Flash, Betty, and Harry watch. Gentle feather fingers lay upon his shoulder as she reasons, “Honey, Spider-Man is a memory you don’t need something to remember him by.”

He spits back at her, “Do you want me to burn him? Rip him to shreds?”

“Yes, and I want you to get rid of the webshooters and the chemicals.” Peter looks abhorred at her very suggestion.

“I can move on MJ. I can accept that I’m not Spider-Man and it’s not coming back. I can accept that I’m going to die in a couple of years. I can accept that Norman Osborn won and gets to continue on. But I can’t destroy the core of what my life has been. I’m not cutting ties with what Spider-Man brought to my life.”

MJ fiery and fuming on her bites back, “What else Peter?”

“And maybe I’ll get to put the suit on again. Maybe I’ll get to swing over the city one last time. I can climb the Empire State Building and sit there until the sun rises. I can save just one more person.” _Maybe_. Peter hasn’t gone through over a decade of superhero fighting to not learn how to hope.

Backing up MJ softly insists, “Peter, let go.”

“No,” it’s Peter’s firm superhero voice. Ever stoic with his shoulders pushed back.

“Peter, let go,” her words are firmer.

“I will never stop being Spider-Man MJ. I will not hesitate to do what must be done.”

“I’ll burn it.”

His words are dangerous, and his steeled eyes tell no lies, “No you won’t, because if you do. Then Peter Parker disappears off the face of the Earth. You’re the only reason I stayed.”

“Don’t do that to me. Holding that over me, so you can control me into doing what you what you want me to. Like Norman.” Peter flinches again, because that wasn’t just her going in straight for his deeply buried emotional tumor, but that was her dripping acid onto a sore. A very sore sore.

He hisses, “No, you don’t get to say that.”

“You’re just like Norman.”

“No. Norman tries to control everything. This is my life that I’m controlling. I’ll pack it away, because we all know that the probability of me every needing it again is low. I believe in science and math, but I also have faith and belief in that small little percent. “

Her eyes, her gorgeous green eyes, scorch him, “Peter you are done being Spider-Man.”

He glares at her, and bites out, “Fine.” He storms out, and the group at the table looks uncomfortably between each other like kids peeking between the balusters as their parent’s rip each other apart in the living room.

Peter looked down at the gently folded suit, webshooters, and other gizmos and gadgets crammed into the case. He looked down at the other man some wise-cracking, supervillian punching person. But it’s funny because he has all this guy’s memory. This guy’s skin adhered to his skin. It’s just so wrong that it isn’t his skin in the box. Brown hair, pasty skin, and a nerd aura that fills a room like a big old wrinkly elephant. He always figured he could run from Peter Parker, because Spider-Man is the truthful Peter Parker, the guy who doesn’t pretend that he is weird and can climb walls and most of his contacts are people running around in costumes.

Peter’s hand rests on the red suit that he had worn so often, his fingers fell the wind push past it, the stretch from all the action, and he felt the droplets of blood never quite washed out. MJ had neatly folded them all perfect just like she does everything else. All seven suits that were currently intact, and then he popped open the metal case the one that he dropped serious change on which had a biometric look. Only he can open it, MJ begged him to not give her a biometric key as well. This is their compromise, so he granted her wish. This thing is everything proof. He laid the last one in, gently amongst the rest like a laying a dear friend to their final rest. His fingers graced around the emblem. His thoughts ran through all the crazy things that happened in the past decade or so of crime fighting. Then he thinks about the decades ahead of him. Then something sours, not decades, years because he is slowly dying. Because those visions of him and MJ old and gray in rocking chairs holding hands and staring into their flickering fireplace will never come true.

This was his life. He use to think Spider-Man ruined his life, but Spider-Man was his life. In this case was most of his life packed away. The exhilarating life that he would never have had if we just some nerdy boy, and he can’t imagine that life such a mundane and empty life. Empty, but he wouldn’t know what he was missing. He would miss all the great things and horrible things and near death things. He would miss the way his stomach dropped the first time he ever swung across the city. The rush and the power behind each swing. If Peter never got bitten by a spider he wouldn’t feel such a burden. The blinding burden, that could make him only think of the burden at time. Getting beaten to the edge, and having to come back from the edge and keep fighting. A life without Spider-Man would be a life unknowingly unsatisfied.

His life in a box. Peter clasped the suit. The case clicked, and Peter let his hand rest on the case. He looked at the ceiling access tile in the closet. It took some climbing – enough to make him miss the ease of just sticking to the wall – he almost fumbled but managed to get the box up there. He doesn’t know there was just a strong urge to hide it.

If ever when he passes and MJ wants to open it he ensures to leave a sample of him hidden so that she can use to open it. Which yeah a whole bunch of things can go wrong with that, but things always go wrong. He thinks of the case tucked away. His twenty-fifth incarnation of his webshooters diligently fidgeted with, and spider-tracers and all the other stupid stuff he made. The skintight not so easy to sew, he finally got his own costume maker spandex suit.

Once he ‘gracefully’ gets down from his precarious position, he looks up and comforts himself in the fact that it is up there. Wouldn’t that be weird if it is was a real body? Peter shakes his head and walks away before any other ridiculous thoughts pop up and ruin the moment.

MJ glances over at him, “So did you get rid of _it_?” Her voice is wisdom filled, she knows. Peter eyes the little access tile in the closet, and MJ follows his eye sight. She lands a firm glare on him and then turns back to her phone, “I better not see it out on Halloween, or in that case ever.” Peter gives her a charming smile and she just sighs.

Peter beams as he opens the door, Jonah waits with flowers, “For me?” Jonah swats Peter’s hand with the bouquet and tuts as he passes to hand the flowers to MJ.

“Absolutely not, when you enter the home you greet the lady. So these are for your gorgeous wife.” MJ gleams at Peter and rubs it in his face as she flutters her eyelids and puts her hand to her heart.

“Why thank you Mr. Jameson, but Peter hasn’t managed to trap this lady down yet.” She wiggles her unrocked finger. Peter groans, do the hints ever get less direct? Does she even know how hard it is to try and decide on ring for a girl with rotating fashion taste faster than the four seasons. A ring, mind you, she’ll be wearing for hopefully the rest of his life.

“Of course Ms. Watson.” She dashes off to get a vase, and fills it with water.

Peter fumbles now left alone, “I’m happy you came Mr. Jameson.”

“I’m not your boss anymore, Peter, call me Jonah.”

“Okay Jonah,” Peter tasted the words like some foreign dish and his tongue just wasn’t quit use to the odd texture.

Jonah nods towards him, “You look better.”

“Well only took a couple weeks. The ribs are still healing. It’s pretty rough,” Peter rubs his ribs which aren’t a hundred percent but much better off, “It’s weird I would’ve been fine in a couple of days, and I would’ve been out the next night if I was still in the red and blue.”

“You really got yourself into some messes Peter,” Peter feigns from doubling over, Jonah doesn’t even know the half of it.

Instead Peter just sighs, “I’m kind of known for it, but those days are over.”

Jonah pats Peter on the shoulder, “You got a wonderful life ahead of you.” Jonah rubs his hands together, reproachful of his words. Unsure, which is such an un-Jonah image, “Maybe I was too shocked, and angry. We could still use a good photographer like you, Parker.”

Peter shakes his head, “No, Jonah you did the right thing. You gave me a kick to move on. That was my old life. Sticking cameras on buildings and posing for photos while getting beaten up. This,” he wraps his arm around MJ as she passes by with a dish, “is my new life.” MJ grins and pecks him on the cheek.

“Now sit at the table boys. You can’t just keep yammering away.”

“What is this?” Jonah shovels a fork into his mouth.

Peter shrivels his nose, “Some vegan meal.”

MJ leans over concerned, “Is everything alright?”

“I may just need you to replace my wife and do all our cooking. I love her but it isn’t this.” Jonah exclaims as he uses his fork to point at the dish of veggies fried to perfection.

MJ sends Peter a smug look, “See Peter, Jonah likes my cooking.”

Peter grumbles as he eats MJ’s healthy food, “I’m just used to eating more filling things. I used to have big calorie deficit to fill.”

MJ chides, “What like pizza? Now that you have to watch what you eat like all of us normal people you can’t have pizza everynight.” Peter groans.

Jonah took another delicious bite, and melted under it’s sweet heavenly flavor, “So what are you going to do now, Peter?”

Peter shrugs, “I recently got a job. I somehow managed to get a college degree in biophysics and some post-grad stuff in biochem between everything else.”

Jonah’s eyebrows shoot up, “And why were you working at the Bugle?”

Peter flicks at one of the sweet potato cubes, “Please I was missing half the time. I could barely freelance, let alone hold a regular job. I have worked at places similar to what I’ll be doing there. Max Modell’s recommendation was a glittering star on top of my resume.”

Silence drapes heavy across the table, MJ enjoys the two men awkwardly not talking. She sips on some water as he eyes drifted between them. Jonah swallows another bite, “I never really knew you were more than a photographer.”

“Just a hobby, it was something that I did with my uncle. In fact, my first camera was his. Of course it sucked and I dropped it off a building at some point.” Jonah looks down at the plates, none of them match they probably got them at the thrift store. Peter Parker is a good man. A man who can barely scrounge a penny out of his patched pocket, because he gives everything he can to everyone else. He spends all his money of suits and chemicals for webs, and then he just scrounges up the bare minimum for himself. He gives all his love to his girlfriend and aunt. He gives all his time to the city, and he used to give some to the Daily Bugle just so he could give back to others.

MJ insists on the cleaning the table so the two can talk some more, and then get the article. Peter’s view from his apartment is abysmal, whenever Jonah looks out at home it is a sea of twinkling nights in the dark sky. Out here it is just another building and then the rambunctious streets, but Peter still likes looking out. It must be some sort of reflex for him watching out over others waiting for something bad to happen.

Peter looks over at Jonah, “Do you think what I did – including all the mistakes – do you think what I did was good?” Jonah looks over at Peter standing like a hero, arms cross feet planted firmly, but doubt lacing his face. It’s probably trained into him at this point.

It’s a stupid, ludicrous question, “Yes, you Peter Parker, did lots of good.” Peter lets out a breathe, relieving his hitched up shoulders.

Jonah settles his hand on the shoulder of Peter, a strong shoulder, “Peter you called me Dad. No one has called me that since my boy got lost in space.” Peter gulps and looks out

Peter Parker and J. Jonah Jameson stand by the window looking out. He sighs as he stares out on the bustling street. Peter looks over, “Hey in a couple weeks bring over Marla, and we could invite Betty, Robertson, Aunt May, your dad.”

“I’m proud of you son.” Peter smiles as he looked over at Jonah looking out onto the city, “Peter Parker is much more important to this city than Spider-Man ever will be. Any mook can wear that mask.”

“Are you calling me a mook?” Jonah pats Peter on the shoulder and gives him a grin

“I’ll make sure to send you your last check. This place is a dump.

“Where is Spider-Man?”

By J. Jonah Jameson

When I first realized Spider-Man wasn’t returning I was delighted. Finally a masked menace off the streets for good, our citizens can finally rest easy without worry some web head comes swooping in to ruin their day. I always thought that Spider-Man was no hero like the Avengers, just some weirdo gallivanting across New York treating the city like a playground. However, crime rates have been creeping up. The few roaches deterred by Spider-Man are poking their heads out and then dashing off to commit crimes. Crooks with capes aren’t scurrying back in to the woodwork now that Spider-Man is no longer there to thwart either. The Avengers don’t take care of all the street level stuff, that’s Spider-Man’s department.

Without Spider-Man there is one less person to keep the streets clean. He was one of the biggest players in keeping crime rates down, and especially curtailing wackos like the Green Goblin, a man that hasn’t appeared again since he took down Spider-Man for what may possibly be the last.

I’ve recently seen Spider-Man, and he is alright. I saw a man sitting on the balusters of a balcony, not afraid of the fall. Comfortable sitting like a normal human being, not all perched up on his tiptoes like he was asking to be pushed over. He sat there watching over the streets as the sun trickled down between the buildings. And when he saw me he was polite and kind despite everything I ever said about him. Just a human under all the creepy superpowers and costumes. A man with doubts and worries. Someone who just does the right thing no matter what.

Now some of you won’t like the fact that I have changed my tone. That I have been put under Spider-Man’s wiles, charm, or spell. But the fact is that when people look up and hear his incessant wooing they feel safe in the fact that someone is making their home safer. There are thousands of people who have Spider-Man to thank. Spider-Man can be trusted. Yes he causes collateral damage, yes he can’t save everyone, yes he isn’t the law, yes he caused the creation of villains. But he only has good intentions.

But he can’t do what he used to anymore. He won’t be around for a while, and so he leaves the job of being a hero to the people of New York. Every day, I bet you watch all these superheroes and think man I wish I could be a superhero. But you can’t climb walls or you don’t have the money to donate to charity or your too young and have to go to bed by 10 PM. But you are wrong, because while you may not have the chance everyday there is going to be one day when an opportunity presents itself. In that moment what you decide can either make you a hero or a nobody, so while you wait for that opportunity practice making the superhero choice and maybe you’ll find that you don’t need to be bitten by a radioactive spider to be a superhero.

But just maybe he will come back someday. For now, we’ll miss you Spider-Man.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads this. This hasn't been quite as popular as some of my other works, but I really liked this story. When I write fanfiction I always try to fill some gap or niche. This story came to me after reading a whole bunch of Amazing Spider-Man comics. 
> 
> I'm sorry it took me so long, but there has been some lack of motivation. Couple days ago I reopened that document and told myself "Lets go". So hope this fic makes at least a handful of people happy or gives somebody something. I personally feel better about it, because it is some of my better writing compared to some other works.
> 
> If this fanfiction meant anything to you or made you feel something, please comment. It is greatly appreciated.


	6. Epilogue

EPILOGUE

When his doctor swept in it didn’t look good. His face all scrunched up with his deep worry lines from years of being a doctor, “Peter Parker, are you aware that there are abnormalities in your blood. The genes seem consistent with spider DNA. You DNA seems to slowly mutating, and if it continues I’m not sure what the consequences will be.” Peter’s two hands cover his face. His hands pull down, and beneath there is a wide grin. “Sir, this isn’t good news.”

Glee fills Peter, “No this is the best news I have had in months.” He jumps up and clamps his two hands on Dr. Mygorkwski. He smiles even wider and shakes the poor doctor.

Keeping his professional air the doctor lists of, “This may be what is causing the severe headaches, muscle cramps, and nausea.”

Peter gives him a final pat, “I’ll be fine, Doc. Just a couple more months. Do me a favor and get rid of my blood sample.”

With his patient dashing off he calls out to him, “This is life threatening Mr. Parker! Not something to joke around about.”

“Spider-Man will return,” Peter calls back.

The doctor grumbles to a coworker, “Insane. I’m telling you, that guy is insane.”

“MJ!” Peter’s smile bounces across the room like a gleeful puppy, and Mary Jane smiles back at this happiness that she hadn’t seen in Peter for a long time. Years.

Half a year of being normal, and he got his life in order. He lived a life as a normal human being, something that he dreamed of. A chance he lost when he got bit. He never had a normal adult life until the day Norman Osborn took it away. Something he should thank him for.

He gets on one knee. “You can’t propose again Peter,” MJ teases.

“I just need you to ask you one thing. Will you marry Spider-Man?”

“I am, silly, but your Peter Parker now.”

“The bloodwork came back. I’m still Spider-Man.”

“What how?” MJ voice tightens, and looks horrified at the man grinning ear to ear.

“Apparently Osborn didn’t eradicate it.” She feels like she has to throw up. “Mircales really do happen.”

“Peter the minute you put that suit on everything crumbles.”

Brown doe eyes look up at her with the soft sincerity of a puppy, “That’s why we saved the suits, if this happened. It wasn’t probable, but then crazier things have happened.” A huff leaves MJ’s chest, “MJ this life is great, but I know that with Spider-Man I can do more. I can help more people. Because Spider-Man has left a hole in my life, because that is my life. Now I just will be merging this wonderful life with you and our new apartment and my new job with Spider-Man.”

MJ sobs, “It’s going to be a trainwreck Peter, because you can’t have everything. Spider-Man will destroy everything we have here. Spider-Man is a train that rams into everything and destroys it.”

Peter looks somber, “I know, but it doesn’t have to destroy everything. I know by myself I won’t be able to preserve all this wonderfulness.” He clasps his hand around hers, “but with you by my side. Together we can preserve the most of what we have.”

“I’m not going to smother it. If it wasn’t supposed to be this way then it wouldn’t. I was dying without Spider-Man. I thought that was what it was, but it isn’t. Because Norman Osborn failed, and that just puts a light in my heart.”

“I am too close to having everything I’ve ever dreamed of to lose you. So Peter I’m not staying, because I know your world will fall apart without me. I’m not staying because I’m happy Spider-Man is back. I’m staying because your back and I want to keep what we have built.” Peter smiled and kissed the ring on her finger.

A thank you note settled on Norman’s Osborns desk and he sipped at the brandy looked at it curiously. It was signed Peter Parker. He sputtered out the whiskey.


End file.
